


Rather Was

by anathemagerminabunt



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:29:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemagerminabunt/pseuds/anathemagerminabunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll let the prompt speak for itself--</p><p> </p><p>  <i>It's been a long time coming, but Martin and Douglas finally are finally together! Things grow very serious very quickly - our two pilots are blissfully happy, and marriage bells are set to be ringing soon.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>But Douglas, ever the pragmatist, is painfully aware of their difference in ages. It's not a pleasant thought, but Douglas has come to terms with the fact that he'll be the first to kick the proverbial bucket, so to speak. ... He's never considered the idea that Martin might actually be the one to die first, though. And Douglas is entirely unprepared when Martin does.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rather Was

The funeral is sparsely attended.

Arthur attends, of course, Carolyn's ashes in tow, and to Douglas' surprise he finds that fact comforting rather than morbid or headache-inducing. Martin's siblings and their families stay through most of the service, sitting a few pews back and actively tuning out the vicar's words. A handful of various airport ground crews, old housemates, and one or two old classmates round out the bunch. On Douglas' right sits his daughter, eyes bright and red, clutching her father's hands hard enough to leave marks.

Douglas doesn't cry. He doesn't make a sound, he hardly even breathes, and it is in this way that he manages to survive the worst afternoon of his life. No, second worse; the worst was four days earlier, when he received the phone call.

Before long, Douglas is stumbling through the church and into a black car, his daughter on one side and Arthur crammed on the other. They follow the hearse in silence, arriving at the cemetery twenty minutes later and stiffly make their way to the gaping hole in the ground that will soon swallow Martin forever.

Douglas freezes on the path. The small crowd flows around him, gathering on the grass, but Douglas is immobile, his stomach icy and solid, chest tightening.

"Douglas?" Arthur inquires, brow furrowed in concern. "Come on, everyone's waiting."

"I can't," he whispers. Clearing his throat, he tries again, louder this time. "I can't. I can't watch them put him-- put him in the dirt like that and just leave him there. I can't-- he doesn't like small and dark spaces, he's going to--" Douglas cuts off, the lump in his throat choking him.

"Okay," Arthur says quietly. He turns to Douglas' daughter, shoving the silver urn into her hands as he instructs, "Watch Mum for me, will you? She'd hate me forever if I made her miss this." Without waiting for a word, he grasps Douglas' bicep and tugs him down toward the cars and across the carpark.

"Where are we going?" Douglas asks once he's able to trust his voice.

"We can wait here." They stop just inside the cemetery gates, Arthur's hand dropping to his side. Silence reigns for nearly fifteen full minutes while they occasionally glance up toward the group at the top of the hill. Eventually, quiet and subdued in a way Douglas hasn't heard since Carolyn's heart attack, Arthur murmurs, "I'm sorry, Douglas. I'm really, really sorry. I miss Skip a lot already, you know. He was... he was _really_ brilliant."

"Yes," Douglas agrees, voice cracking as the tears finally come, "yes, he rather was, wasn't he?"


End file.
